


To Entrust

by Ravvi



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character studies, Multi, PTSD, general darkfic themes, look at chapter headings for warnings, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravvi/pseuds/Ravvi
Summary: Undertale and Underswap monsters found a way to the surface.  They've brokered a treaty with the humans and managed to attain peace, which becomes strained as they begin to quietly accept refugees from the Fellverses.Plot Devices:Multi-universe shenanigans, monsters on the surface dealing with human politics, SpicyHoney, a lot of heavy inspiration from Lady Kit's writing, culture clash and dealing with personal demons.  Should be mostly worldbuilding and character study.General warnings:Moderate darkfic themes, including self harm, suicidal ideation, painfully realistic Fellverse situations, possibly some non-con and darkfic sexual scenarios.  Warnings specific to each part will be posted at the beginning.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	1. Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stretch is a horny jerk, and Edge redirects him.
> 
> No particular warnings for this chapter. Stretch being an annoyingly horny jerk who doesn't sort the silverware?

**2019 Mount Ebott Treaty with NNHS (Excerpt)**

_…Native Non-Human Sentients (referred to henceforth as NNHS, see index for definitions and exclusions) are subject to all laws, bylaws, and restrictions pertinent to their place of residence with addendums described in the following documents. Restrictions are especially pertinent to NNHS carrying evidence of past homicide as determined on a discretionary, case by case basis…_

* * *

“EEP!” Stretch squeaked, jerking his hand back just in time to avoid the wooden spoon aimed at his metacarpals. 

“If you stick your fingers in my batter one more time, I will cut them off,” Edge snarled as Stretch danced backward with a triumphant giggle.

“Cut them off?” he scoffed, seductively pushing his chocolate-coated fingers into his mouth and drawing them back out. “But then I won’t be able to use them to-emmf!”

He broke out into laughter, peeling off the dish towel that Edge had thrown into his face.

“If you’re so intent on using your fingers, then finish the dishes. You can dry them off with that,” Edge growled, spooning his batter into a cake pan.

“But there’s soooo many other things that I can use them for,” Stretch purred, walking up behind Edge and slyly wrapping his arms around his waist. "Undoing buttons, unbuckling stubborn-OOF!"

A booted heel deliberately dropped onto his toe as Edge caught his wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and firmly shoved him up against the sink. 

“I’m finding myself rather uncreative at the moment,” Edge murmured, pressing his hip into the back of Stretch’s sacrum before gently taking the dishtowel out of his trapped hand. “Dishes…“ he wrapped his fingers around Stretch’s free hand, then guided it through the action of picking up a bowl. “Dry.” He dropped the dishtowel into the bowl. “Yes?”

Stretch craned his head backward and pressed a silent kiss against the side of Edge’s jawbone. Edge stiffened, then sighed and dropped his chin against Stretch’s shoulder.

“Is it bugging you that much?” he asked softly, dropping the annoyingly-horny boyfriend routine.

Edge took a short, unhappy breath and stared expressionlessly out the window for a long moment. “It will pass,” he finally said, letting go of Stretch’s arm and stepping away.

“Of course it will. You’re so damn awesome that they won’t be able to see it any other way,” Stretch scoffed, picking up a handful of silverware and blotting it with the dishtowel. “It’s just political bullshit. Couple of hoops to jump through, and then they’ll just leave us alone.”

Edge quietly picked up his pan of brownies and slid them into the oven, looking conflicted. 

“Seriously, you’ve got nothing to worry about. They’re putting ALL the Fells through this,” Stretch grumbled, letting a little of his irritation at the humans’ whole, stupid probationary system leak into his tone. “Making a fucking mess of it too. Did you hear that ‘Swapdyne got pulled into the system? She says they mistook her for Felldyne, which…really? _Really?_ I’m starting to see why our ancestors thought these idiots were assholes.”

Edge silently set the digital timer on the stove, letting the short, mechanical beeps fill the silence.

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

Edge gave him a look.

“You don’t want to talk about it. Uh…”

“Would you mind watching these? I’m going to go pick up our mail.”

“You are?” Stretch asked incredulously, looking out the window. Dense, grey clouds were pouring rain onto the city streets, leaving deep puddles for cars to splash through at their own risk. Every now and again, a gust of rain-soaked wind slapped the window, splattering it with fat raindrops and rattling the glass. “But it’s _pouring_ -“

Edge had already walked out of the kitchen. Anxious and a bit unsure, Stretch followed him, getting to the door of the kitchen just in time to hear Edge open the front door, admitting the dull roar of rain hitting wet pavement, before it closed again with a firm snap.

“Damn it,” he muttered, tossing the handful of silverware into its drawer and running his hand over the top to settle the various utensils into their pockets. Shortly after he’d moved into this apartment with Edge, they’d had a package stolen out from under the communal mailboxes. Edge had immediately rented a lockable mailbox from the local post office, about a mile away. Stretch thought that the move was a bit extreme, especially since the thief had only gotten a twenty-ounce container of impulse-buy silly putty. When he’d said as much, to Edge, the prickly bastard had just replied ‘ _you may continue to forward items to that pathetically undersecured box if you are intent on placing convenience over basic security, but the_ **correct** _option will continue to be available._

The love, and light of his life was very hard to argue with sometimes.

Stretch tossed the dishtowel on top of the dishes and walked through their small bedroom to the bathroom. He grabbed a towel off the rack, stuck it by the door, then peeked out the front door with a shudder. Edge was going to be absolutely drenched when he got back, but maybe it would help him cool off a little. Getting exercise, that was. Not getting wet. The weather had been bad enough that he’d lightened up on his usual exercise routine, which was probably part of the problem. A walk would definitely help. That and a pan of piping-hot brownies, which smelled _fantastic_ and were-

Shit.

Stretch rushed into the kitchen, snatching Edge’s brownies out of the oven and frantically looking them over as 350-degree heat blasted into his face and arms. They looked done? Or at least, not burned, but it was so hard to tell because brownies were already such a dark colour…

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP

Stretch jumped, staring at the shrieking timer for a minute before remembering that Edge had set it before leaving. Sighing irritably, he shut it off, closed the oven, and left the brownies to cool on top of the stove. Edge better get back soon, or he was going to eat the whole, damn pan all by himself. And then, he’d keep Edge awake all night as he suffered through the effects of high-quality dark chocolate, sugar, and a deeply regrettable tummy ache.

Satisifed by this unspoken threat of revenge, Stretch settled back onto the couch with a steaming brownie in one hand, and began to flip through channels, patiently waiting for Edge to get back.


	2. Imprints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge goes for a walk
> 
> Warnings for descriptions of PTSD headspace, though Edge's coping mechanisms are (mostly) healthy.

**2019 Mount Ebott Treaty with NNHS (Excerpt)**

_…Regarding legal rights of renters and home-buyers –_

_The rights of NNHS to obtain housing shall not be infringed upon. Discrimination is prohibited, and punishable equivalent to all laws and precedents set for humans. The same shall be said of NNHS carrying evidence of past homicide, with exceptions as determined on a discretionary, case by case basis …_

_===_

The rain was cold and heavy. The wind whipped it into his face and against every inch of exposed bone, soaking through his clothes in seconds. The shock cleared his head, forcing those cursed mental voices to shut up and face the immediacy of the moment. He was freezing. He was wet.

He was _alive._

Taking a deep breath, Edge jogged along the road, squinting through the weather at passing cars and the few, miserable-looking pedestrians hurrying between sheltered doorways. Nobody was using an umbrella, but then, this wasn’t Waterfall’s lukewarm, mineral-rich pseudo rain. The wind alone was enough to tear an umbrella to pieces, and then rip it out of your hands. But at least no one was staring. Angel’s fucking mercy, he was sick to death of being stared at-

Edge turned his face into the rain, letting the deluge pound against his forehead and cheekbones until the flash of anger had faded. Gasping lightly for breath, he hurried along, arriving at the post office far sooner than he would have liked. For all of his partner’s sloth-motivated bitching, it was NOT very far away. 

He retrieved the mail without incident, then frowned out at the storm. It had let up a little, but not enough that paper and ink would survive the trip back to the apartment. It would need to be protected…

~~He used to have a special, waterproof pouch made of tightly knitted grocery bags for getting written missives in and out of Waterfall. Stars, where had it ended up...~~

He took a short, deep breath and glanced around the post office. The mailboxes were in their own room, separated from the front desk by a heavy, glass door. A human attendant would be sitting behind a desk there, dutifully waiting for customers who weren’t going to come. Security cameras peeked out of the corners near the ceiling, always in redundant sets and at exact angles. They watched the mail boxes flawlessly, as they should, but a broad section of the street-facing wall was in their blind spot. 

And lo, the ever-wasteful humans had left a garbage can right in the center of it.

Holding the mail carefully away from his body, Edge gently unhooked the garbage bag and pushed it aside. A thoughtful janitor had left a pair of fresh bags in the bottom. Edge took one, stuffed his mail inside, and carefully replaced the original bag to cover any evidence of the theft. Task accomplished, he tucked his newly-waterproofed mail into his sopping-wet shirt and left, resisting the urge to spend an extra minute or two mopping up his wet footprints. The humans would hardly care about a stolen garbage bag, if they noticed at all.

~~And if they did notice, the camera footage would make him look suspicious. Better not to tempt fate.~~

The rain gradually lightened as he made his way back, but the heavy, glutted clouds overhead promised more of the same before nightfall. Edge scowled at them, hopping over puddles as he ducked through an alley that wasn’t _technically_ a shortcut. The spray-painted grafitti, neatly aligned garbage cans, and lone homeless person curled up against a doorway were all so harmless that it was almost cute. A similar shortcut in the Fell Capitol would land you in gang territory, and if you were very, _very_ lucky, you'd get through with most of your clothes still on and no broken bones.

Edge stepped around a pot hole and climbed fluidly over a chain-link fence, dropping to the ground just behind the apartment buildings. Water was spilling over the gutter that lined the roof above the third storey, splattering the asphalt with enough force to fling droplets onto the windows of the lowest floors. He frowned at it thoughtfully. The apartment owners had explicitly stated in their contract that any maintenance was to be done by trained personnel, which was commendable of them. Edge had later discovered that they were required to do so by law, which made their uncharacteristic charity much more explicable. 

Technically, he should lodge a complaint and wait for the building’s management to send out a maintenance technician.   
  
Technically.  
  
The drainpipe was ridiculously easy to climb. Even wet, the anchors more than supported his weight, remaining solidly embedded in the brick façade. The lip of the roof presented a little more of a challenge. After a moment’s thought, he twisted until he could grab onto the edge of the gable, edged himself up the slop of the roof-line, and swung a leg onto the shingles. The humans’ fucking tracker anklet pinched as he used the foot-hold to roll onto the roof. He forced himself to ignore it as he stood and began to walk over the shingles, toward the dripping gutter.

An air conditioning unit clicked rhythmically as he walked past it, motor straining as it sucked in the damp air. It sounded like the central fan bearing was giving out. Red might have a spare…

The asphalt shingles were torn or missing in a few places. Luckily, water wasn’t puddling there. They would need to be patched, or at the very least, painted over with tar once the weather got better. Red’s relationship with Cinder might be good enough that the fire elemental would be willing to sell them some decent roofing materials, though Stretch’s Swirlby might give him a better deal…

Edge reached the overflowing section of the gutter. As expected, leaves and muck had collected in the trough, forming a slimy mesh that was keeping the water from draining away. He scooped it away with his fingers, cleared away a few other spots that were likely to become problem areas, then carefully bundled the muck into a scrap of the post office’s garbage bag. Task completed, he quickly returned to the ground and discarded the mess in the dumpster. 

Above him, the rain sluiced quietly through the gutter, now neatly contained. He gave his hands a cursory wipe on the grass to remove the worst of the gutter sludge, took a deep, relieved breath, and headed back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I don't see much in PTSD fics are descriptions of how the past always seems to be right on top of you, sometimes so much that it seems like it's trying to imprint itself on the present. There are things you can do to change that, but usually by the time you notice, you're in for other, less benign symptoms.

**Author's Note:**

> Meant to hold this idea until I was done with Matter of Intent, but it's WAYYYY too much fun to wait until then XD To keep myself sane, these are all going to be pretty short, but hopefully I'll be able to post them with reasonable frequency.


End file.
